Dawn of the Kid
by Daroga's Rainy Daae
Summary: Whether it was the fact that fate was on Erik's side that day, or the springs of the torture chamber’s trapdoor were weak, something caused a small accident, which would soon become a huge burden...
1. Sylvie

**A/N**: I give thanks and credit to **The Scorpion**, who really started me going on this story through wisecracks at her own… Read her newest phic, it's the shiz! And widdout further ado, I give you a humor phic I never thought I'd write.  
  
**DAWN OF THE KID  
**  
Erik was sitting in an armchair before a fire, deep in thought and waiting for Christine to return to him. He had let her go just the previous day, but as she was the only person he ever came in contact with, he grew so lonely when she was away.   
  
Whether it was the fact that fate was on his side that day or that the springs on the trapdoor to the torture chamber were rusty or cheap, maybe a combination of the two, or maybe it was the fact that the rats have chewed them, you know, with their powerful jaws grown mutatedly strong due to what the rat catcher was feeding them to lure them to him… Let me try that sentence again… Whether it was the fact that fate was on his side that day, or the springs of the torture chamber's trapdoor were weak, something caused a small accident, which would soon become a huge burden.  
  
KATHUMP! (was the sound made which allowed Erik to start and break from his brooding, wondering what could have made the noise.)  
  
"Please, God… Let that be the little fop's head," Erik muttered to himself as he slowly stood from his velvet chair to investigate. Had he not been away in his mind, he would have known where the sound had come from. Instead, he began his search by checking outside. Discovering there to be nobody, save for the Persian who was holding his breath and hiding in the shadows, who he ignored anyway, he closed his door and was just about to check under the sofa when he heard a cry from inside the torture chamber.  
  
It distinctly said, "Aaauuuhaaaammaaaamaaa," which led our hero to believe that it was either Ayesha with her claw caught in the hidden door again, or Meg. It turned out that it was neither. Erik realized this after he peeked through the little window outside the chamber and saw the distinct figure of an estimated four-year-old little girl in pigtails, too small to be Meg and too large to be his precious. The Phantom was horrified once the thought registered that he couldn't murder an innocent child like he could a hairy, old man.  
  
"Leave it," Erik said to himself. "Just leave it and it will go away."  
  
With that, he left the window, went to his library, pulled out a book and began to read in a comfortable recliner. Amazingly enough, even three doors down, Erik could still hear the child's wails. He just tried to ignore them at first, but it got so annoying over the course of about a minute and a half that his head began to pound.  
  
"The organ," he realized. "I can block the girl out if I practice the organ." Abruptly, Erik stood and quickly crossed the hall to the room which held his glamorous and ridiculously loud pipe organ. He set himself at the stool and began to press the keys rhythmically. He happily drifted into a world of peace and music, blocking reality out and falling toward a surreal state of mine which openly embraced him. That is- until the wails erupted and climaxed quite impressively.  
  
Erik played louder, but the louder he played, the louder the girl cried.  
  
"It's inhuman!" he shouted to himself, ending his tune and wheeling around toward the noise. "I'm dealing with the devil's child, here!" He flew out the door, down the hall and to the window again, which he glared at the girl through. She couldn't see him, for the light was off.  
  
"Little girl," Erik addressed her, tapping on the glass. She persisted in her sobbing. "GIRL!" he crowed at the top of his lungs. The kid stopped crying instantly and looked as if she hadn't been in hysterics at all. Indeed - she smoothed out her pink dress, pulled at the silk ribbons in her hair and gave Erik the most adorably cute pouty face. He recoiled with a wave of sickness.  
  
"Girl, are you hurt?" Erik asked, sufferingly. The kid let her eyes wander to the tree. Erik snapped his fingers a few times and tapped on the glass again. She gave him her full attention. "Are you hurt?"  
  
"Sylvie," she replied, sniffing once.  
  
"What?"  
  
"My name is Sylvie. Not Girl," she said.  
  
"Are you hurt, Sylvie?" Erik asked, pronouncing each vowel and consonant absurdly slowly, mentally slapping himself in the forehead.  
  
"My mommy, she's a-important lady, she told me, she told my owder big brother to be with me. I wan't afraid of the below ground, he says I was, but I wan't. We went down and we-" She paused here for a moment and said, "Well, I fell fwum up there." She pointed at the ceiling, where the trapdoor hung open far above the child's head.  
  
"Yes, that's all good," Erik said, impatiently after a bit of blinking. "But are you hurt?"  
  
"I fell and, and landed on…this," she said, indicating what she fell on by lifting up her skirts. Erik screamed.  
  
"Put those down, young lady!" he ordered. She did so. There were a few seconds pause. "So you're not hurt?" he asked, just to make sure.  
  
"Nope," Sylvie said, popping her lips on the 'p.'  
  
"Then… why were you wailing so loudly?" he inquired.  
  
"I am scawed of the dark," she said, pouting some more.  
  
"If I turn the light on, will you promise to stop crying?" Erik tried to bargain.  
  
"Turn the light on and we'll see," Sylvie answered, sticking her tongue out and running to hide behind the tree. Erik flipped the switch, and light flooded the room. The girl poked her head from around the metal trunk and squinted in the Phantom's direction.  
  
"I see you," Sylvie informed him, giggling.  
  
"That's all good and well," he replied, sarcastically.  
  
"What awe you wearing on your face?"  
  
"It's a mask."  
  
"What does it do?"  
  
"Why do you want to know?"  
  
"Awe you scawed-a sunlight?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Awe you going to a mathed-ball?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Is it holding your face togethow?"  
  
"No!" Erik shouted, frustrated. "Now shut up and go away!"  
  
"I can't," Sylvie complained.  
  
"Why not?" Erik grumbled, nonsensically in his aggravation.   
  
"Too showt," she replied, hopping up and down and stretching toward the ceiling.  
  
"Then just sit down and pretend like you're not here," Erik said.  
  
"You're gwumpy," Sylvie muttered.  
  
"What of it," Erik muttered back.  
  
"You're probably old," she said, nodding as if she knew so much more than he.  
  
"What!" he said as a lame comeback.  
  
"Old and mean and vewy old," she added, solemnly.  
  
"That's it. Time out behind the tree," Erik demanded.  
  
"But-"  
  
"But nothing. Five minutes. Get."  
  
Erik was completely surprised when the girl actually did it. He smiled to himself and thought how rotten he could be by ordering this kid around all day. He kicked himself a moment afterwards, knowing that he couldn't manipulate a cute little girl like that… unless she was wearing the proper maid uniform, complete with little black flat-heeled shoes so she could deliver his champagne quicker and reduce the chances of spilling it on the silver tray…  
  
He immediately left to prowl the kitchen in hopes to find a suitable platter, but soon gave up looking and wandered back to the fireplace. He actually forgot all about the child until she began to cry again. Her voice carried down the hall and well to Erik's ears. It actually carried up six stories, around the corner, four doors to the right to Jammes's dressing room where she wondered if it was that nasty old opera ghost again.  
  
"All right, all right," Erik said, giving in as his head gave an especially loud clang of complaint. He rose from his seat and approached the torture chamber, shooting what he hoped to be an intimidating glare in the direction of Sylvie.  
  
"You fowgot about me," she accused him, not even flinching, absentmindedly spinning on her heel and pulling out a ribbon.  
  
"Did not," Erik retorted. He could hardly believe that came out of his mouth the instant he said it.  
  
"Did too," Sylvie said.  
  
"So what is it you want?" Erik asked, icily.  
  
"I'm hungwy. And I want out. Why won't you lemme out?" she inquired.  
  
"Are you joking? I don't know how to care for or feed a little girl," Erik announced.  
  
"Make me a samwich."  
  
Erik muttered a few colorful phrases under his breath which Sylvie picked up as sandwich fillings.  
  
"Never heawd of it. Make me a samwich."  
  
"This is going to be a long day," Erik groaned.  
  
**A/N**: Like it? Hate it? Want more? Please tell! Thanks for reading! I wrote this seriously half asleep. Had to write it, ya know? 


	2. The Whole Sandwich Deal

**A/N**: Hey, guys! Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you like Erik being tormented by children… Hope you like the second chapter just as much!  
  
Erik stood at the window to the torture chamber with a messily made sandwich, feeling like a complete fool.  
  
"I got your food," he announced, glaring at Sylvie who was swinging on the branch of the tree.  
  
"Good!" she squealed, hopping down and running up to the little window. "Is it extwa mayonnaise like I asked for?"  
  
"Yes," Erik sighed.  
  
"With cheese? And ham?"  
  
"Yes, yes."  
  
"And the cwust cut off?…"  
  
"Yes!" Erik shouted curtly, squeaking open the little window and shoving the sandwich through, stretching his arm as far as it would go. "And I got you some water, too." After the girl took the sandwich from him, Erik stooped down and carefully picked up a bowl of water.  
  
Sylvie blinked.  
  
"Is that how you dwink it?" she asked, sufferingly.  
  
Erik looked down at the bowl of water, then back to Sylvie. "No… But small girls have to drink it like this."  
  
"No they don't," she said.  
  
"Yes, they do!" Erik snapped back.  
  
"_I_ don't!" she retorted, taking a menacing bite of her sandwich and chomping it forcefully.  
  
"Well you do, now," Erik muttered, shoving the bowl through the hole.  
  
"Don't spill it," Sylvie said. "Mama is always careful about-"  
  
"I'm not your mama! Just take the water!" Erik growled. Sylvie's eyes welled up with tears and her lower lip quivered. "Now don't cry," he said, arms aching from holding the bowl out too long. "It's all right!"  
  
"Say you sorry," she whimpered, letting tears spill down her face.  
  
"For what!" Erik said, exasperated.  
  
"You awe being mean!" she whined.  
  
"Will you take the water if I say it?" he asked.  
  
"Say you sorry!" Sylvie cried.  
  
"All right! I… I'm sorry okay, now take it!"  
  
The girl happily reached for the bowl, only realizing that her sandwich was in her hands. She held the sandwich in one hand and tried to take the water with the other, but stopped and looked confused.  
  
"What is it?" Erik said, his voice forcefully calm.  
  
"I can't carry the watow in one hand," Sylvie informed it. "It will spill."  
  
"Put the sandwich down."  
  
"It'll get dirty!"  
  
"Here!" Erik grumbled, squeezing his other arm through the hole. "Give me the sandwich and you can take the bowl of water."  
  
Sylvie handed Erik her half eaten ham sandwich, which was covered in slobber. Erik nearly snapped with rage, gritting his teeth, but when he saw Sylvie on the verge of tears again, he turned his face into a very agonizing smile.  
  
"Awe you conspitated?" Sylvie asked, lightly. "My daddy used to-"  
  
"TAKE - THE WATER!" Erik shouted.  
  
"Okay, okay," she replied, grabbing the bowl with both hands and carefully lowering it to the floor. She didn't have to bend over very far. "Now gimme the samwich."  
  
"Little brat," he muttered under his breath.  
  
"Huh?" she asked as Erik dropped the sandwich into her hands and drew them back out of the torture chamber with a disgusted look on his face.  
  
"I said, don't spill that," he said quickly, closing the little window with his elbow.  
  
"Oh."  
  
The Phantom rushed from the room the wash his hands, thoroughly. "Because," he decided, logically. "Who knows what kinds of diseases children have?"  
  
Erik decided his pruny hands were sterilized after a good eight washes, and by the time he made his way back to the torture chamber, there was an empty bowl next to Sylvie, who was sitting on the floor, wet and awaiting his return.  
  
"Look at me," she said.  
  
"What?" Erik asked, innocently.  
  
"I'm all watowy," she growled. "Whenever I tried to dwink from your stupid bowl, it would spill over the sides and onto me."  
  
"Why didn't you set it on the ground and lap it up?" he suggested.  
  
"I'm not a aminal!" Sylvie said, hurt.  
  
"Well I'm sorry, but I don't know how to take care of a kid, okay?" Erik muttered.  
  
"You should! You awe old, and old people know how to take care of kids!" Sylvie answered.  
  
"I never had any!" he hissed.  
  
"No wondow!" she hissed back, curling her knees up to her chin, defiantly. "You awe too gwumpy and mean to have kids! You mean old clown head!"  
  
"Clown head!"  
  
"Uh-huh! I know what you awe! It's sooo ovibous! Only clowns awe old and gwumpy and wear masks!" And with that, she stuck out her tongue and kicked the bowl a few inches for good measure. Erik took a deep breath, and there was silence for a few minutes with which both of them used to calm down.  
  
"What is your name?" Sylvie asked, abruptly.  
  
"My name?" Erik asked. "Why do you need to know?"  
  
"If you don't tell me, I'll just call you Clown Head," she said.  
  
"It's Erik," he said without a second thought.  
  
"Ewik the Clown Head," Sylvie laughed.  
  
"Hasn't your mama ever told you not to be rude to strangers?" Erik shot.  
  
"You awe not a stwanger. Stwangers awe people you don't know. I know you. Your name is Ewik, you don't know how to take care of me, and you have kindness ithues," Sylvie said, plainly.  
  
"Yeah, yeah."  
  
"But if you let me out of here, I won't think you awe that mean," she bargained.  
  
"I can't let you out!" he objected.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"You'd destroy my house!"  
  
"Would not!" Sylvie said. "I want to go back to Mama," she added.  
  
"Well, you can't, yet."  
  
"Why not!"  
  
"Because - because…" Erik trailed off, not wanting to tell the girl that the reason was because he couldn't have a kid spreading around the location of his home. He knew that the instant she left the place, she'd be rattling on about a mean old man in the cellar, and pretty soon, people would come to investigate. And what if she knew the rumors of the phantom of the opera? Everybody had… Perhaps the thought hadn't even crossed her mind. Maybe she thought it was normal for people to live down there…  
  
"Little girl-"  
  
"Sylvie," she quickly corrected him.  
  
"Sylvie- do you think it's strange that you're here in this place?" Erik asked.  
  
"Isn't it a pwop room?" she inquired in reply.  
  
"That's right," Erik said.  
  
"And you awe a stagehand who has rescewed me," she added, impressively, twirling around and looking at herself in the mirrors.  
  
"How do you know what a stagehand is?" he wondered aloud.  
  
"My daddy was a stagehand here!" she answered, happily. "He brought me behind stage a whole a bunch." She extended her arms to emphasize the 'whole.'  
  
Suddenly, there was a loud knocking on the door.  
  
"My mommy has come-"  
  
"Sh! Sylvie, be quiet! It's not your mama," Erik hushed the girl, rushing to get the door. He only knew of two people it could be. Christine, or- "Daroga," Erik muttered, swinging open the door to rudely greet his friend. The door slammed against the wall and shook the small chandelier. "What are you doing here?" he asked, spitefully.  
  
"Do you have to ask? I think there's something funny going on here. I heard voices," the daroga said.  
  
"Voices? It was just me. I talk to myself, you know that," Erik replied, coolly.  
  
"Children's voices."  
  
"I can do children's voices!" Erik said defensively, feeling like a total freak.  
  
"Can I come in, then?" the Persian asked, stepping into the house. Erik shoved him back out and blocked the doorway.  
  
"Why would you want to do that?" Erik asked, quickly.  
  
"I thought you might want to have some tea with me," he retorted.  
  
"Tea! Who wants tea? Be a man and go find yourself some fine wine," Erik said.  
  
"Ewik, you awe taking a long time!" Sylvie's voice floated from the torture chamber to the entrance.  
  
"Damn," Erik grumbled.  
  
"Who was that?" the daroga snapped.  
  
"Uh… It was… My niece."  
  
"You don't have a niece."  
  
"Fine, it was Ayesha!"  
  
The daroga stared.  
  
"Oh, all right," Erik muttered. "You caught me!… Welcome to 5th Cellar Daycare Center."  
  
"Fifth cellar…?"  
  
"It was a way to earn a few extra francs, okay?"  
  
"You know you're a horrible liar, right?" the Persian said, eyeing Erik, slyly.  
  
"Okay, fine," Erik mumbled. "So this kid fell through the trapdoor in the top of the torture chamber and now I'm stuck with her."  
  
"Erik!"  
  
"And I can't let her go or she'll tell her mama I'm here!" he added. The daroga sighed and glared at Erik for a while. "You can glare at me all you want, but you know I'm right."  
  
"You're not right," the Persian said.  
  
"Am too!" Erik clapped a hand to his mouth and stared at his friend, embarrassed. "Pretend I didn't say that."  
  
"Erik, you have to let the girl go," the Persian said, sternly. "It's for her own good, and yours. How long do you think it's going to take before people start looking for her and they find you, anyway? Your best bet is to tell the girl not to talk about you and just put her back onto the first floor where she can find her mother again. Think about it. Do the right thing. I'll see you later." And with that, Erik watched his friend slide back into the shadows where he could easily spy on him some more, since he had no life other than that in the first place.  
  
"Her name's Sylvie," Erik called into the darkness, slamming the door behind him. 


	3. Potty Time

Erik stormed tetchily back toward the torture chamber and glanced through the window to see Sylvie wearing the exact same expression, tapping her foot and furrowing her brow in an attempt to look totally pissed off.  
  
"What's your problem?" Erik asked.  
  
"I'm mad at _you_, Ewik," Sylvie retorted as if there were others around that she could be mad at.  
  
"Why?" he asked, his hard look softening.  
  
"You don't want me to see my mama. You just want me for yourself!" Sylvie grumbled.  
  
"I assure you, you are much mistaken," Erik jeered. Tears came to the girl's eyes. "I didn't mean it like that!" he added hurriedly, mentally slapping himself for being so harsh. "I do like you. But I'd much rather send you back to your mama where you'll be happy."  
  
"Then why don't you?" Sylvie asked, sniffing and wiping her nose up her arm. Erik hesitated. Dozens of excuses crossed his mind, but for some reason when he looked at this innocent little kid, he couldn't muster a lie.  
  
"Well, you see… Now, you know," he started, stumbling over his words. "That's hard to explain."  
  
"Twy me," Sylvie replied, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows.  
  
"I don't have to _try_ you," Erik said, shaking his head and remembering that he was supposed to be the one in control.  
  
"Okay!" she said happily, shrugging and automatically forgetting about her anger.  
  
"Really?" Erik asked, warily.  
  
"Oh, yeah!" she whooped. But suddenly, her face fell. "Uh oh."  
  
"Uh oh?" Erik repeated, frightfully. "I don't like the sound of that."  
  
"I hafta go to the bafroom," Sylvie cried.  
  
"What!?" Erik shouted.  
  
"I have to go!" she whined, hopping up and down.  
  
"Why did you drink all your water so fast!" Erik accused.  
  
"Well you gave it to me!" Sylvie accused back, pointing an accusing finger for emphasis in her accusation.  
  
"Now, don't shout!" Erik said in panic, sweating copiously. "Just - hold on a moment!" He rushed from the window and out of view of Sylvie, appearing a few moments later with a stack of newspaper in his hands. He fumbled with the latch and opened the little window with a squeak, shoving the papers through.  
  
"Go on these," Erik instructed, hastily.  
  
"NO!" Sylvie shrieked. "That's what you give to a doggie! I am not a doggie, Ewik!"  
  
"How bad do you have to go?" Erik spat.  
  
"Veeeeewy bad!" she replied through gritted teeth.  
  
"Then go on those," he said.  
  
"I hate you!" Sylvie yelled, venomously.  
  
"Be that as it may!" Erik yelled back.  
  
"I'm not gonna!" Sylvie shouted.  
  
"You're going to!" Erik said, curling his fist, threateningly, "Or it'll be your _last potty_!"  
  
"Oh deawr, not my _last_!" the child snapped, sardonically. Erik was taken aback. He'd never seen this side of the child.  
  
"Maybe I should just let you in the house," Erik muttered, flinching slightly.  
  
"That's more like it," Sylvie piped up, smiling cheerfully. Erik was almost frightened of this child's insane mood swings. He could do nothing but bend to her wrath! What strange creature was this seemingly harmless little girl?  
  
"Well!" Sylvie cried, bouncing up and down with vigor.  
  
"All right," Erik said, his voice filled with dread. "Let's just get this over with." He bent down and went about unlocking the hidden door.  
  
"Huwrry up," Sylvie called to him.  
  
"I'm hurrying," Erik muttered, twisting the key in the lock, which sprang open with a click. "Don't worry." He pulled the lock off of the door and twisted the handle, yanking it open. Sylvie tried to run out, but Erik caught her and grabbed her up in a football hold, running to the bathroom and shoving her inside.  
  
"Oof!" Sylvie said as she fell to the ground. "Thanks a lot."  
  
"Just- relieve yourself!" Erik growled, slamming the door in her face.  
  
"Gwouchy," Erik heard Sylvie mutter from inside. "You awe not going to open that door until I'm done!" she added.  
  
"I assure you," Erik hissed. "I won't."  
  
"No peeking."  
  
"Just go!"  
  
"Fine, fine."  
  
Erik heard the girl shuffling around behind the door, then the sound of the toilet bowl being opened and finally Sylvie did her business. She began to hum and tap her short feet on the bowl. There was silence for a few minutes, then the sound of shuffling around some more.  
  
"What are you doing in there?" Erik asked.  
  
"Looking for potty paper," Sylvie called out. "There is none."  
  
"Find some!" Erik grumbled.  
  
"You!"  
  
Erik hunted throughout his house and opened a linen closet. Various things fell out, but he kicked them back in and retrieved a roll of toilet paper. He went back to the bathroom door and blinked. He didn't know how he was going to get it in there without intruding on the child's privacy.  
  
"I have your paper," he called through the door.  
  
"Give it to me!" Sylvie ordered.  
  
"You won't let me open the door," Erik protested.  
  
"Tear off some," she said, logically. "Then kick it under." Erik did this and heard the child grunt, stretching to reach it from her seat on the toilet. "Thanks," she added.   
  
Erik heard the sound of flushing, the lid slam, and the door soon creaked open.  
  
"Are you quite finished?" Erik asked, glaring down at the happy girl.  
  
"Yep! I went all by myself," Sylvie announced, taking Erik by the hands.  
  
"Your hands are wet, Sylvie," Erik said. "Go dry them on the towel," he reminded her.  
  
"I can't reach the towel," she replied, looking at him innocently.  
  
Erik peered into the bathroom and noticed that the towel was a good four feet up, just under the sink. "Well, then you'll have to-" Erik ended his sentence abruptly and made a double take toward the towel. Which was _just under the sink_. His eyes widened in fear and he felt as if he were going to cry.  
  
"Sylvie," Erik addressed her slowly, enunciating her name with a careful tone, swallowing loudly. His throat seemed incredibly parched all of a sudden. "How did you wash your hands?"  
  
"Oh! I couldn't wreach the sink. So I rinsed them off in the potty," she said simply.  
  
_Going to stay calm, going to stay calm, going to stay calm…_  
  
Erik gritted his teeth and held his hands out in front of him as his eyes began to water.  
  
"Ewik? What's wro-" Sylvie started, reaching for his hand again, but was interrupted when Erik shouted, shrilly:  
  
"Don't touch me!" He pulled his hand away and said, trying to keep his temper under control; "Climb onto the counter and scrub your hands profusely! With soap!"  
  
"Okay," Sylvie said, shrugging. She hoisted herself onto the side of the sink with difficulty and turned on the faucet.  
  
"With soap!" Erik repeated.  
  
"I know, I know," she said, glomming on the soap.  
  
"Until your hands are white!" he said. She did as she was told. "Now get off." Sylvie hopped off the counter and stood by the bathroom door, obediently.  
  
"Your turn!" she giggled.  
  
"Shut up!" Erik snarled. _You little twat…_  
  
He ran the water so that it was scorching hot, steam billowing out of the sink as he ran his fingers under it, sterilizing his hands so well that a layer of skin was peeling off by the time he was through washing them.  
  
"Now-" Erik started, turning to find that Sylvie was no longer standing by the door. "Sylvie?" he called. "Sylvie! You had better not be messing up my house!" He stomped down the hall and checked his bedroom, then the room across from it, his library, his music room, and the Louis-Phillipe room. She was in none of these rooms.  
  
"Sylvie!" Erik called, wandering into the living room. "Syl-" He stopped his shouting suddenly when he saw the little girl, curled up, asleep on his couch. Instead of being disgusted, Erik admitted to himself that she was actually kind of cute while she was dozing, when she wasn't whining or being annoying, or wiping her toilet-water-covered hands all over him.  
  
Instead of making her go back into the torture chamber, Erik sighed and decided not to wake her, grabbing a blanket and tossing it over her little body.  
  
"I'm not going soft," Erik reminded himself, tucking the afghan around her form. "I just wouldn't want her getting a nasty cold and wiping snot all over my furniture."  
  
**A/N**: Hey, guys! Thanks for all the great reviews! Hope you liked this chapter, and there is more to come. :-D 


End file.
